Rather I prize the doubt Low kinds exist without, Finished and finite clods, untroubled by a spark. Poor vaunt of life indeed, Were man but formed to feed On joy, to solely seek and find and feast; Such feasting ended, then As sure an end to men; Irks care the crop-full bird? Frets doubt the maw-crammed beast? Rejoice we are allied To that which doth provide And not partake, effect and not receive! A spark disturbs our clod; Nearer we hold of God Who gives, than of his tribes that take, I must believe. Then, welcome each rebuff That turns earth's smoothness rough, Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand but go! Be our joys three-parts pain! Strive, and hold cheap the strain; Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge the throe! A brute I might have been, but would not sink i' the scale. What is he but a brute 35 40 Whose flesh has soul to suit, Whose spirit works lest arms and legs want play? 45 To man, propose this test Thy body at its best, How far can that project thy soul on its lone way? Yet gifts should prove their use: 50 I own the Past profuse Of power each side, perfection every turn: Eyes, ears took in their dole, Brain treasured up the whole; Should not the heart beat once "How good to live and learn"? 55 Not once beat "Praise be thine! I see the whole design, I, who saw power, see now love perfect too: Perfect I call thy plan: Thanks that I was a man! 60 Maker, remake, complete, — I trust what thou shalt do"? For pleasant is this flesh; Our soul, in its rose-mesh Pulled ever to the earth, still yearns for rest: Would we some prize might hold 65 To match those manifold Possessions of the brute, Let us not always say, "Spite of this flesh to-day gain most, as we did best! I strove, made head, gained ground upon the whole !" 70 As the bird wings and sings, Let us cry, "All good things Are ours, nor soul helps flesh more, now, than flesh helps soul!" Therefore I summon age To grant youth's heritage, 75 Life's struggle having so far reached its term: Thence shall I pass, approved A man, for aye removed From the developed brute; a god, though in the germ. And I shall thereupon 80 Take rest, ere I be gone Once more on my adventure brave and new: Fearless and unperplexed, When I wage battle next, What weapons to select, what armour to indue. Young, all lay in dispute; I shall know, being old. 90 Take it and try its worth: here dies another day." So, still within this life, Though lifted o'er its strife, Let me discern, compare, pronounce at last, "This rage was right i' the main, That acquiescence vain: The Future I may face now I have proved the Past." For more is not reserved To man, with soul just nerved To act to-morrow what he learns to-day: Here, work enough to watch The Master work, and catch Hints of the proper craft, tricks of the tool's true play. As it was better, youth 100 105 Should strive, through acts uncouth, 110 Toward making, than repose on aught found made: From strife, should know, than tempt Further. Thou waitedst age: wait death nor be afraid! 115 Enough now, if the Right And Good and Infinite Be named here, as thou callest thy hand thine own, Subject to no dispute 120 From fools that crowded youth, nor let thee feel alone. Be there, for once and all, Severed great minds from small, Announced to each his station in the Past! Was I, the world arraigned, 125 Were they, my soul disdained, Right? Let age speak the truth and give us peace at last! Now, who shall arbitrate? Ten men love what I hate, Shun what I follow, slight what I receive; 130 Ten, who in ears and eyes Match me: we all surmise, They this thing, and I that: whom shall my soul believe? Not on the vulgar mass Called "work," must sentence pass, 135 Things done, that took the eye and had the price; O'er which, from level stand, The low world laid its hand, Found straightway to its mind, could value in a trice: But all, the world's coarse thumb 140 And finger failed to plumb, So passed in making up the main account; All instincts immature, All purposes unsure, That weighed not as his work, yet swelled the man's amount: 145 Thoughts hardly to be packed Into a narrow act, Fancies that broke through language and escaped; All I could never be, All, men ignored in me, This, I was worth to God, whose wheel the pitcher shaped. Ay, note that Potter's wheel, That metaphor! and feel Why time spins fast, why passive lies our clay, — Thou, to whom fools propound, When the wine makes its round, "Since life fleets, all is change; the Past gone, seize to-day!" 150 155 Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure: What entered into thee, 160 That was, is, and shall be: Time's wheel runs back or stops: Potter and clay endure. He fixed thee 'mid this dance Of plastic circumstance, This Present, thou, forsooth, wouldst fain arrest : 165 Machinery just meant To give thy soul its bent, Try thee and turn thee forth, sufficiently impressed. Grow out, in graver mood, obey the sterner stress? Look not thou down but up! 175 To uses of a cup, The festal board, lamp's flash and trumpet's peal, The new wine's foaming flow, The Master's lips aglow! Thou, heaven's consummate cup, what needst thou with earth's wheel? 180 |